


Surveillance and Custody

by Vertiga



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, misuse of Police equipment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertiga/pseuds/Vertiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade walks in on Mycroft wanking in his flat, and decides this calls for immediate police intervention...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surveillance and Custody

Greg Lestrade trudged up the stairs with all the weariness of a man who has seen far, far too much since he last slept. It had been an awful day – beginning with domestic murder of the bloodiest kind and ending with a shouting match over a body on the rainy railway lines at King’s Cross which Sherlock insisted wasn’t the suicide Anderson said it was.

Lestrade had gone home with the case unresolved, not because he wanted to, but because it had been altogether too long since he had slept anywhere but in his office chair. Sherlock had whirled off to the lab, trailing Dr Watson behind him like an admiring shadow. Doubtless, Greg would hear from them with proof of Sherlock’s theory far earlier than he would like in the morning, but at least he had the chance at a few hours sleep first.

After three attempts, Greg’s tired brain managed to co-ordinate fingers and keys well enough to get the door open, and he all but fell into his flat.

It was quiet and empty, but the lights were on in the living room, and Greg was almost sure he'd turned them off when he left. Still, he hadn’t been home in two days – he could easily be wrong.

He dropped his coat carelessly on the sofa, toed off his damp shoes and headed for the bathroom. He was halfway there when a breathy gasp broke the silence of the flat. Greg tensed, thinking of all the enemies he had made over the course of his career. There were altogether too many people who would want to hide out in his flat and catch him unawares for a spot of revenge. Tiredness took a back-seat as adrenaline rushed into his bloodstream.

He stood still, balanced on his toes, listening. A minute later there was another sound, a throaty groan from the bedroom at the end of the hall. It was distinctly, achingly sexual, and Greg almost thought it sounded familiar.

Curiosity warring with suspicion, the detective crept down the hall on silent feet. His bedroom door stood slightly ajar, the dim light of the bedside lamp shining through the gap.

Drawing nearer, Greg could hear someone breathing, fast and ragged, and the wet, rhythmic slapping of unmistakable activity. He pressed himself against the wall and peered around the edge of the door.

His mouth fell open at the sight of the long, pale-skinned figure which lay naked on his sheets. Mycroft had put some weight back on in the last few months, restoring the faint softness around his belly which Greg liked so much. He was breathless, eyes squeezed shut, sweat glistening on his naked skin, knees raised and spread wide, baring him to Greg’s view. His left hand gripped the rumpled sheet whilst his right curled firmly around his flushed, straining cock. Pre-come slicked his movements, and every stroke of his clever fingers brought another wet sound as he worked his cock.

Thoughts of danger and attack faded as Greg watched his lover, feeling heat pool in his own groin at the debauched sight. It was far more than he had expected to come home to, and a definite improvement to his day.

Mycroft groaned again, shifting to a faster rhythm, and Greg was torn between watching him come, secret and silent, and interrupting so he could touch and taste for himself. He hadn’t seen Mycroft for over a week, and even as tired as he was, sex sounded like a welcome idea. Another idea occurred to him, inspired by his voyeurism, and he grinned in the dim corridor, reaching for the handcuffs which he kept on his belt.

Seconds later, he kicked the door as hard as sock-clad feet would allow. The door slammed back against the wall, and Mycroft’s eyes flew open in shock.

Greg was on him in an instant, wrenching his hand away from his cock and flipping him onto his front.

‘Mycroft Holmes, I am arresting you for breaking and entering and gross indecency,’ he barked, cuffing Mycroft’s hands securely behind him. His fingers were slick with pre-come, and Greg’s trousers grew uncomfortably tight as he manhandled his naked lover. ‘You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used in evidence against you.’

To his credit, Mycroft caught up impressively fast after his initial surprise. Lestrade had barely finished his spiel before Mycroft was twisting to look at him with heavy-lidded, lustful eyes.

‘Oh, Inspector, you’ve caught me!’ he said, voice low and suggestive. ‘I’m guilty, so very guilty. Punish me, Inspector. I’m such a naughty man!’

Torn between laughing at the corniness of it and getting caught up in the role, Greg paused for a moment. Mycroft quickly made up his mind for him by grinding his hips into the bed and groaning. Clearly, being “arrested” had done nothing to quell his arousal.

Emboldened, Greg hauled Mycroft up and pushed him off the bed, forcing him onto his knees and standing over him.

‘You are a very bad man, Mr Holmes. And since it was my flat you broke into, I think it’s only fair that you pay me back for the use of my bed,’ Greg said, unbuckling his belt.

Mycroft stared up at him from his knees, mouth hanging slack and inviting, bright steel pinning his wrists. His cock stood proud and weeping between his thighs.

Greg could hardly get his trousers open fast enough, painfully hard with want. He shoved his trousers and boxers aside, freeing his cock, and moaned brokenly as he took himself in hand. Watching Mycroft pleasure himself had left him already dripping, needy and desperate. This was not the evening he had envisioned, but he was hardly going to complain – this was immeasurably better.

Mycroft sighed at the sight of him, and Greg curled his hand around the back of his lover’s head, pulling him down. Mycroft went willingly, licking hungrily at his hot length, sending shivers of pleasure through Greg’s tired muscles with every curl of his tongue.

He tightened his fingers in Mycroft’s soft hair and pulled him closer, needing more contact, more heat.

Mycroft took the hint, locking his lips around the fat head of Greg’s cock, sucking hard.

‘Jesus!’ Sudden pleasure damn-near landed Greg on his knees, and he fell back towards the wall. Mycroft let him go, but almost as soon as his back hit the wallpaper, Mycroft was there, shuffling forward on his knees, cock bobbing obscenely against his freckled stomach, taking Greg in his mouth again.

Hot, wet, pressure enfolded Greg’s erection and he moaned aloud, hips stuttering helplessly into Mycroft’s mouth.

‘Oh, God!’ he groaned, feeling Mycroft’s tongue swirl up and down the underside of his cock. He looked down, and the sight of his lover’s lips stretched around his length sent another shudder of desire through him. ‘Yes, like that!’

Mycroft hummed in agreement, sending vibrations juddering through Gregory’s crotch and wringing a needy moan from his mouth. White heat gathered in his stomach, pleasure building fast. He wasn’t going to last long.

Mycroft pulled back, lips dragging along every velvet inch of skin, then sank forwards, bobbing his head up and down in short, strong sucks, taking Greg into the back of his throat with every dip.

Greg’s head fell back against the wall with a thump that he barely felt, pleasure wiping out all other sensation. He moaned, over and over, as Mycroft moved faster, setting a punishing rhythm that had pleasure mounting in a wave within him.

‘Jesus, My...’ Greg panted, hand limp against Mycroft’s head, too far gone even to set the pace. ‘God, yes. Yes, I’m going to – ’ he warned.

Mycroft hummed encouragement, not breaking away for even a moment, and the vibration shot through Greg like lightning.

‘Fuck!’ he gasped, and bent almost double over Mycroft as he came.

Mycroft swallowed quickly, chasing the salty fluid, keeping Greg in his mouth until the crashing waves of his orgasm had subsided then releasing him gently.

Greg slid down the wall, gasping, heart hammering in his chest. All the exhaustion of his day washed over him again, and his eyelids fluttered closed for a moment.

He could hear Mycroft wriggling beside him on the floor, and remembered that his bound hands made it impossible to touch himself. He must have been so desperately close already, and Greg forced his eyes open, wanting to reciprocate. He closed a shaky hand around Mycroft’s straining erection, smearing pre-come down the shaft and twisting his fist up and down the hot flesh, pressing his thumb sharply under the head. It seemed to take only a moment for Mycroft’s quick breaths to catch into a shuddering groan. He came hard, warm wetness spilling over Greg’s fist and splattering Mycroft’s stomach.

Greg milked him gently through the pulsing orgasm, wringing sweet moans from his lips, then dropped his hand away, leaning back exhaustedly against the wall.

There was a suspended moment of quiet, both men catching their breath. At last, Mycroft spoke, pulling Greg back from a heavy torpor.

‘Good evening to you too, Gregory,’ the wry voice brought him back to himself. ‘A somewhat unconventional greeting, I must say. I’m not entirely sure that it’s polite to arrest a man whilst he’s occupied.’

‘Not entirely sure it’s polite to break in and wank in someone’s bed,’ Greg countered, dredging the words up from what felt like a long way away.

‘But it is certainly worth it,’ Mycroft said. ‘I almost thought I had mistimed it and you wouldn’t make it home in time to join me...’ He chuckled breathily, and Greg opened his eyes and looked at him. Mycroft smiled at him, flushed from his own orgasm, lips pink and swollen. A single drop of Greg’s come had escaped his mouth and dribbled down his chin, meeting the come splattered across his chest and stomach from his own release. He looked utterly undone and debauched, and Greg groaned at the sight, feeling a twitch of desire despite having already come.

‘God, you’re gorgeous, you are,’ he sighed. ‘Do you know how good you look on your knees?’

‘About as good as you look with most of your clothes still on and your face flushed from a climax, I imagine,’ Mycroft said. ‘You look so very lovely right now, even though I can see that you haven’t slept for days. Come to bed, my love.’

‘Oh, yes please,’ Greg sighed. He could hardly think of anything better than falling asleep in Mycroft’s arms. He staggered to his feet, then drew Mycroft up off his knees and kissed him, licking away the white trail on his chin. His own release tasted salty and bitter, and tasting it mingled with the sweat on Mycroft’s skin was unbearably sexy. He reached for a tissue from the box on the bedside table, cleaned his hand and wiped Mycroft’s chest and stomach clean, then pulled him close and kissed him.

They kissed for an endless moment, tongues twining a lazy hello after their time apart, before Greg remembered why he couldn’t feel Mycroft’s hands moving on him.

‘Keys. Yeah...’ he mumbled. ‘Bugger, I think they’re in my coat.’

‘Never mind,’ Mycroft said, and kissed him again. When they broke apart a minute later, Mycroft’s hands were free, the closed loops of the handcuffs dangling casually from his fingers.

‘How?’ Greg asked in surprise.

Mycroft simply looked at him as though he was being intolerably dense. ‘Really, Gregory. I have been able to dislocate my own thumbs since Sherlock handcuffed me to a bookcase at the age of twelve. It barely even hurts anymore.’

Greg shook his head, imagining once again the mayhem that the brothers must have perpetrated as children. ‘Bloody Holmeses,’ he said warmly, and kissed Mycroft again.

Mycroft helped the exhausted detective out of his rumpled clothes, throwing them carelessly aside. He guided Greg gently back onto the bed and lay down beside him, newly-freed hands stroking soothingly over his skin.

Greg sighed, almost asleep at the careful touches, afterglow and exhaustion catching up with him. The bed was soft and welcoming, warm from Mycroft’s bare skin.

‘Mmmm... Sorry, My, not going to be much use to you for the rest of the night,’ he apologised.

Mycroft kissed his neck softly. ‘You just sleep, my love,’ he said. ‘That’s all I want in the world, tonight.’

Greg felt Mycroft pull the duvet over them both, settling against him, and then sleep swept him away completely.


End file.
